


Love Like You Do

by bestintheworld



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Implied Mpreg, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-02-11 17:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12939753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestintheworld/pseuds/bestintheworld
Summary: More outlandish things happen on Azeroth every day; why not add some brand new black dragons to the mix?





	1. Chapter 1

“Do we have plans for after lunch, my king?” Wrathion winds his way around Anduin in a distinctly animalistic way, despite continuing to favor his humanoid form. Wrathion had been behaving oddly for the past few weeks. Well, oddly for Wrathion, but what many might consider entirely respectable. He generally seemed to consider Stormwind Keep something of a vacation home, popping in to take time off with Anduin when he wasn’t busy managing quests in ten other places on three other realms. Yet now, instead of whisking off on ill advised missions he was staying put, sticking generally by Anduin’s side, and scaring nary a single citizen with impromptu dragon sightings. Anduin wishes he could just appreciate the semblance of a normal relationship, but he can’t shake the growing suspicion that this is the calm before a storm of Wrathion’s own devising.

“I have meetings with the SI-7 all afternoon, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, how entertaining! Your spies are adorable.”

Anduin rolls his eyes. “They’re every bit as skilled as yours and you know it.”

“Mm, perhaps, but not quite as skilled as _me_ , I don’t think.” Wrathion nuzzles into him. “Would you rather I sit out on your very important spies’ top secret briefing, or is King’s consort high enough security clearance?”

Anduin weighs the options. Much as he loves Wrathion, and would trust him with his life, he knows the general opinion of his forces. They view Wrathion as a strange fixation of Anduin’s at best, while a fair number consider him the second coming of Onyxia. Letting him tag along to something so sensitive is unlikely to go any distance toward changing that stance.

“Best you not attend, I think. For the troops’ peace of mind.”

Wrathion hums from his new position, wrapped around Anduin from behind with his chin resting on his shoulder.

“I suppose I understand. Though I do wonder when you’ll finally just issue the royal decree of ‘get over it’.”

Anduin laughs gently. “I don’t believe such a law would do anything but heighten suspicion toward you, dear. Harsh and sweeping punishment isn’t exactly my style.”

Wrathion clings a bit tighter. “I’ll miss you.”

“It… it is just for the afternoon, love.” Anduin responds quizzically. The two of them have been together for a fair number of years, and though they certainly enjoy each other’s company, Anduin has never known Wrathion to be quite so… clingy.

Wrathion seems to have the same thought, as he suddenly coughs and straightens up.

“Yes, well then, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Are you alright?”

Wrathion makes a noncommittal noise.

“You’ve seemed listless, why don’t you find something to do with yourself? Surely managing the most impressive spy network on Azeroth takes time?”

“It used to.” Wrathion huffs. “They practically run themselves now. It feels like all I do is receive reports that everything is going perfectly and have agents make suggestions of orders I’d give myself.”

“The hardships of being the best, hm?”

Wrathion continues his sulking. “Perhaps.”

“Why not get out of the city for a while? I’m sure you can find something to terrorize in Elwynn.”

He seems to perk up a bit at the idea. “I’ll bring you back dinner, how about that?”

“As long as it isn’t raw or charred.”

“How terribly human of you.”

Anduin rolls his eyes as he makes off for his very important meeting.

“Please wait until you’re out of the city before transforming, love. I wouldn’t want your head mounted on the wall.”

Wrathion waves a dismissive taloned hand as he walks in the opposite direction.

-

Despite his best attempts at risk management, Anduin is interrupted less than an hour into listening to Genn rave about the Forsaken’s movements.

“Might I have a word with our dear king?”

Wrathion’s words are polite, but his tone is harsh, and paired with his abrupt entrance, he leaves no room for a refusal.

“My Lord, this is of the utmost importance!” Genn shakes his map forcefully.

“I understand, I’ll be back in just one moment.”

Before he can even fully stand, Wrathion is already dragging Anduin out by his shoulder.

“Might I ask what this is about?” Anduin slips the grip and attempts to readjust his neck piece.

Wrathion hisses, trying to avoid letting his voice carry. “What this is about? What this is about is, I’ve made a terrible mistake staying here as long as I have.”

Anduin feels his stomach fall away. “What?”

“I was, I was _drawn_ , for some reason, to stay here, some inane compulsion, and I knew I shouldn’t have listened to it. Dragons aren’t meant to be so disgustingly domestic! And this is just proof!” Wrathion is raving, hands gesticulating wildly.

“I will not be trapped here like you are, King! I will not be trapped in this city, or this faction, or this form!”

“Wrathion, I don’t—“

Wrathion is suddenly surrounded with a puff of white smoke, a usual sign of his transformations. But as the smoke clears, the same vaguely elven form in staring back at him with murder in his eyes.

“Have you had something done to me, Anduin? Speak entirely honestly now or you will never see me again.”

“Wrathion, I swear to you. I would never… I would never even wish to do such a thing.”

Wrathion studies Anduin’s face frantically before seeming to find what he wants. The fight goes out of him all at once. He sags forward, world weary.

“I trust you.” He looks up. His eyes are heartbreakingly sad, filled with a fear Anduin knows he won’t be able to soothe. “But I can’t stay here. Something dangerous has happened to me, I have to reverse it somehow. I can’t… I’m a dragon, Anduin. I have to be.”

“I understand.” Anduin mumbles. And truly, he does. “Write me this time, at least?”

Wrathion chuckles weakly.

“As often as I can.”

-

Two months later, Anduin receives a letter. It arrives with no messenger or fanfare, simply appearing on the desk of his private quarters, which no one should have access to. Anduin’s heart leaps when he sees it, simply because he knows the only person who would break into the High King’s bedroom for something so mundane.

The note reads simply, “The Black Prince wishes to inform you that he is well, and will be returning shortly.”

Anduin writes back a hasty and elated response, then leaves it on his desk, unsure of where else to send it off. When he wakes in the morning, it’s gone.

He really must have a talk about approved goings-on of the Blacktalons.

-  


Wrathion himself returns with a surprising lack of fanfare. The keep’s guards merely inform Anduin of his arrival, and he goes out to meet him at once, prior scheduling be damned.

Wrathion looks entirely worse for wear in an unbathed sort of way, but Anduin embraces him anyway.

“I missed you.” He murmurs down into his turban, face nestled between concealed horns.

“And I you, my love.” He pulls him into a kiss that Anduin is all too happy to return before remembering they’re on the front steps of the castle. Anduin breaks away after a moment and ushers him inside to seek out some degree of privacy.

“I hope you’re feeling better after your time away?”

“In some ways, yes.” Wrathion’s answer is evasive. Anduin frowns.

“If you really meant all that you said, and it’s still of concern, I want you to know that you’re free to come and go from Stormwind at any time, in any manner you please. I would never begrudge you that, Wrathion.”

Wrathion chuckles darkly in response. “I fear I may have been a bit too hasty in my evaluation of the cause of my, ah, malady.”

“And what might the true cause have been?”

Wrathion closes their bedroom door behind himself once they arrive. He takes off his backpack carefully. Anduin realizes he certainly didn’t have that with him when he left.

It’s deep red in color, and somewhat awkwardly shaped. It seems too soft for any real traveling.

“It seems I had been. Laden.”

“Will I regret asking with what?”

Wrathion flips open the top of the knapsack and offers Anduin a look.

Two large dark eggs gleam back at him. Anduin feels as though his heart stops.

“Where- where were you?”

“I took a ship to Wyrmrest. The Lifebinder was exceedingly quick to diagnose my illness.”

“You were-“

“Gravid.”

“I don’t- these are- yours?”

“And yours as well, I expect.”

“Oh.”

Anduin collapses shakily onto the bed.

Wrathion joins him more primly, cradling the bag on his lap.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m- I’m not sure. I never considered the possibility- what _are_ they?”

“Lady Alexstrasza stated female, though I can’t say how she knew.”

“No I mean-“ Anduin stops himself. “Girls?”

Wrathion hums an affirmation. “Two daughters.”

“Oh.”

Wrathion’s hand moves to cradle one of Anduin’s cheeks, wiping away tears he hadn’t realized he was crying.

“Two daughters.” Anduin laughs, bordering on manic. “Are they dragons?”

“I don’t know of any humans to come out of an egg.”

“But- they are mine.”

“I’m too young yet to take up with multiple consorts, I think.”

Anduin glares darkly.

“Kidding of course, dearest. Though if you listened to my queen, I’m too young even for one.” Wrathion all but pouts.

“Oh, Light. Was this unsafe for you? Are you alright?”

Wrathion grins with a familiar gleam in his eye. “I did perfectly. Lady Alexstrasza herself said she couldn’t have done better at my age.”

Anduin hesitates. “And— and they’re alright? There’s no…”

Wrathion’s hand grips the bed tightly. “She said— She said: ‘their souls shine purely with the gift of life.’” Wrathion swallows roughly. Anduin politely ignores the tears running down his face. “She seemed very proud.”

Anduin covers Wrathion’s hand with his own and squeezes it. “I’m sure she was. I know I am.”

They sit together in silence for a long moment.

“Would it be alright if I held one?”

“Oh, yes of course. Carefully.”

“On my life.”

Wrathion scoots the eggs’ satchel over.

“Is there a difference between the two?”

Wrathion hums. “This one was first.” He taps an egg. “She’s a bit more oblong.”

Anduin reaches out to touch the egg Wrathion had pointed out. He watches his hand tremble above it, suddenly unable to make himself close the final inches.

Wrathion takes his hand and guides it to the surface. Anduin gasps. The egg is warm and smooth, like a riverbank stone baked in the sun. If he concentrates, Anduin feels as though he can sense a life force pulsing within it, just as Wrathion had said. It’s as beautiful as anything he’s ever witnessed.

“You wanted to hold her, yes?”

Anduin can hardly imagine holding such a precious life.

Yet, a moment later Wrathion has maneuvered the egg out of its carrier and into Anduin’s own hands.

It radiates heat, pulsing gently as though in acknowledgment.

“Can it, she, hear me?”

Wrathion shrugs. “I recall being fairly sentient at that age, but I’ve been recently informed that I may not be the norm for dragonkind. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Anduin caresses the shell lightly. The surface is studded with raised circles, almost polka dotted with texture.

“Hello?”

No apparent response comes. Anduin feels a bit silly.

Wrathion squeaks out a little voice. “Well met!”

Anduin snorts. “You’re terrible.”

Wrathion holds the second egg up. “How dare you speak to my father that way!”

He wiggles it comically, like a puppet.

Anduin can’t help but laugh. “Light. Wrathion, a father. How could that have happened?”

“Yes, what unlucky soul must be saddled with him?”

Anduin strokes the egg again with one thumb and sighs, content. “He feels quite lucky now.”

Wrathion smirks before pressing a kiss to Anduin’s mouth. “He must be quite the amazing person, to charm a dragon.”

“Perhaps the dragon was just easily charmed.”

Wrathion takes his turn to laugh.

“You should have heard the Wyrmrest gossip. You’d think I’d eloped with a murloc for how appalled they were!” Wrathion puts on a haughty voice. “Sired by a _huuuuman?_ ”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard some similar things around here as well. Even before-” Anduin looks down at the two perfect eggs again. “This. Light, they’ll never stop talking now.”

Wrathion gives him a wry grin. “We’ll just have to prove them wrong, won’t we?”

-

Anduin requests incubators brought up after Wrathion alarmingly informs him he’d been dousing the eggs in dragonflame every so often to keep them warm. From there, paired with Wrathion’s sudden reappearance, gossip spreads throughout the Keep quickly. Anduin feels as though his sheets are being changed five times as often as usual by people attempting sneak peeks at the fabled dragon eggs the King of Stormwind is keeping watch over. He makes attempts to delegate work when he can, making more time to spend fussing over them. The majority still requires his personal attention, however.

-

“We’ll resume discussion on this tomorrow afternoon, I trust that’s alright with everyone?”

The assembled military leaders chorus back their assent.

“Excellent. Dismissed.”

Genn approaches him surreptitiously, clearly attempting not to draw the attention of the room as everyone else packs up. “How much longer will this be going on for, Anduin?”

“Talks seem to be going fairly well to me, I wouldn’t expect us to be stuck on this issue for more than a few more-“

“Not the bloody borders. I’m talking about you cutting your duties short for that…” Genn waves a hand in the air. “whatever you call it.”

Anduin narrows his eyes. “If you’re talking about Wrathion, taking care of my family is a high priority. I would think you would understand that, Genn.”

“Your family.”

“Yes. You’ve seen them.”

Genn leans in further, as the others in the room begin to file out.

“Someone has to say it, so it’s best you hear from me. It really seems, to most everyone, that the dragon is pulling the wool over your eyes. In regards to this whole, uh. Child business.”

Anduin carefully keeps himself in check. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Come now Anduin, you’re smarter than this. Do you really believe your heir is in a blasted _egg_?”

“Stranger things have happened in our time.”

“And more intelligent plots have been cooked up by black dragons under our very noses.”

“General. I understand that Wrathion is not well liked among my armies. But I truly had hoped for more among my friends.”

“I’m just looking out for your best interests, son.”

He levels Anduin with a painfully condescending look. “You cannot tell your people that a dragon’s bastard is your heir.”

“They won’t be bastards by the time they’re born.” Anduin fires back, before immediately regretting it.

“You can’t be serious. Son-“

“You should be happy, you’re always hinting at my needing to be wed-.”

“Anduin! Clear your head, you cannot WED a BEAST!”

“What would you say, if someone said that in regard to your own family, Lord Greymane?”

Genn snaps his mouth shut, furious. “That’s not-“

“It is entirely relevant, Genn. Wrathion is not a wild animal, and he is not an evil scheming wyrm. He is my consort, my intended, and the father of my children. And you and everyone else will just have to _get over it._ ”

Genn huffs a long breath out of his nose, teeth gritted tightly. “As you wish, my king.” He storms out of the room, leaving Anduin with the distinct impression that it isn’t the last he’ll hear on the topic.

-

“You told him we’re getting married?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Wrathion laughs. “You might have asked me first.”

“I thought it was sort of implied, what with the children and all!” Anduin blusters.

“Dragons don’t exactly wed, Anduin. And in any case, I’m not convinced a wedding to a dragon would hold up in Stormwind court.”

“It would if I said it did.” Anduin grumbles.

Wrathion’s eyes spark with mirth. “As enthusiastic as I am about you abusing your power, let’s put a pin in it, hm? There are more important things to concern ourselves with at the moment.”

They reach what Anduin has been calling the nursery in his head, but is really just a sitting room of his private quarters. The two eggs lay here in their incubators most of the time, when their fathers aren’t playing with them.

Anduin lies on his back and holds an egg up over his head, watching it fondly. He isn’t convinced the eggs get much of anything out of their “playtime” but Anduin can’t exactly brood them, and finds himself at a loss for how else to bond, if not to treat them like human infants. It makes him feel more involved, at least.

And Wrathion occasionally mirrors his actions, seeming highly amused, so it can’t be bad for them. Probably.

“She seems much bigger today.”

Wrathion glows with pride. “Yes, they both do. But that one especially, I agree.”

The two eggs have nearly doubled in size since Anduin first saw them, and sprouted small spikes where they once only had bumps. It’s vaguely concerning to Anduin, but overall seems to herald healthy growth. He just has to be much more careful with his grip.

“Should we name them? It feels so silly just calling them ‘this one’ or ‘that one.’”

Wrathion hums. “I picked my own name. I thought we might let them choose.”

Anduin frowns. “Oh. Is that very typical? For dragons?”

“Is it too much to hope for that our children be prodigies?”

“I suppose not.” Anduin laughs.

They lapse into amicable silence. He coos at his chosen egg as Wrathion watches, cradling his own against his stomach.

“How do mortals usually choose their children’s names? Just anything they like?”

“Well, sometimes yes. But it’s something of a tradition in my family to be named after the heroes who came before us.”

“Hm, I suppose I did know that. My Lion of Azeroth.” Wrathion teases. He nuzzles into Anduin’s neck as he blushes.

“Raar.”

“Oh my, so fearsome! Surely our daughters will be the most dangerous creatures this world has ever seen.”

“This world has seen quite a few creatures by now, love.”

“But a half-lion half-dragon? That’s quite impressive!”

Anduin snorts as he tries to picture such a chimeric being. “Is that not just a wyvern?”

Wrathion scoffs, mimicking affront. “How dare you compare a child of mine to such an uncivilized beast!”

“Well that’s just rude. I’ve spoken to a few wyvern. They seem like very nice folk.”

“Hmph, perhaps. But they’re certainly no _dragons_.”

“I’ve also spoken to a few dragons less civil than a rampaging kodo.” He accompanies the statement with a pointed look.

Wrathion presses a dramatic hand to his forehead . “It’s such a shame, even the High King of the Alliance himself can’t get past his kingdom’s nasty dragon prejudices. You’d think him better than that!”

The teasing smile slides off Anduin’s face as the joke hits too close to home. He stares at his egg again, imagining the creature who might come out of it.

Wrathion rests his head against Anduin’s shoulder. “What would you want to name her? Or who after?”

Anduin sighs. “After my mother, I think. Tiffin. She was beloved by her people.”

“Oh.” Wrathion seems to reflect deeply on the idea.

“What about you?”

“My family has no great heroes.”

Anduin feels tactless for even asking. “Perhaps some other great dragon then?”

Wrathion wrinkles his nose with distaste. “I wouldn’t give a black dragon the name of another flight. No more than your father would name you as an orc.”

“I’m sorry.” Anduin has nothing left to say.

Wrathion fidgets restlessly. “I think on the legacy of my flight often. Whether traditions woven by a population of monsters are even worth upholding.”

He sighs and repositions his egg carefully. “But surely they weren’t all like him. In the beginning, at least.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Wrathion sighs again. “My mother… I think of her often, as well. It almost feels as though I can remember her. But she was gone long before I could have known her.”

Anduin nods. He knows the feeling.

Wrathion continues in a small voice. “So many of them committed truly terrible crimes. Likely she was no innocent. But somehow I still feel that she, at least, loved me. As well as she could.”

Anduin blinks back tears. “Do you know her name?”

“Nyxondra.”

“I think that’s a beautiful name."

-

Some weeks of the same routine go by. Anduin almost starts to feel comfortable with it, before Wrathion mentions to him, casually, in passing, that the eggs will be hatching in three days, and he’s already sent word to Lady Alexstrasza to attend the event. Anduin goes into a tizzy, readying and organizing everything he can think of, to put the castle in order not only for two baby dragons, but for one much considerably larger one.

-

Three days later, the Queen of Dragons arrives, curiously, by portal from Dalaran. Anduin makes sure to greet her at the entrance from the mage tower. He is, understandably, a bit on edge.

“Lifebinder. You honor us with your presence.” He bows low.

Alexstrasza returns the gesture with an amused smile. “As your mate honors me with his invitation, young king. It has been many years since I have been so happy to witness the hatching of a black dragon. I thought I never would again.” She gestures to him to lead the way, and they take off back toward the Keep.

“I was quite surprised as well.”

Alexstrasza laughs, a booming melody that turns heads as they walk by.

“Wrathion never struck me as the brooding type, no. Much too busy scheming.”

Anduin laughs nervously. Alexstrasza merely gives him a conspiratorial smile.

“I hope it isn’t too forward to say, but this gives me some degree of hope for your future. If you could soothe the wildest whelp I’ve seen in all my years, perhaps there is yet a chance for your warring factions.”

“If only it were so simple.”

Alexstrasza grins sharply. Every bit of her radiates her otherworldliness, in a way Wrathion has never seemed to.

“I hope I make it no great secret that I am something of a fan of your politics, Anduin Wrynn.” She winks at him. “Fighting death with life itself. Some would say you had taken a page out of my own book, young priest. I can’t help but be flattered! But, of course, a dragon does best to appear impartial.” She straightens up regally. “A bit of binding fire does go a long way however. If you ever have need of it.”

“I will… keep that in mind.”

They reach the Grand Ballroom, cleared out in preparation of a draconic event, in the absence of any other rooms with suitable ceiling clearance. Wrathion is already there, in the form of a tense black drake curled around himself possessively. He eyes the approaching party with no small deal of suspicion.

Alexstrasza offers him a gracious bow. “Black Prince.”

“My Queen.”

Anduin dithers in the tension. “How are they doing?”

Wrathion shoots one last look at Alexstrasza before unfolding a wing to reveal the two eggs. Anduin gasps. They both have distinct hairline cracks spreading from their tops. Alexstrasza cranes her neck to view them from a polite distance. “Well done. You called me just in time.”

“Yes well, if the Aspect of Life herself is willing to preside over my brood’s hatching, I would be foolish not to invite her.” Wrathion feigns nonchalance.

Alexstrasza smiles. “I am more than happy to give my blessing, Wrathion.”

He shuffles his wings awkwardly under her warm gaze.

“You may want to remove yourself from the area, mortal. Or perhaps cast a shield, hm?”

Anduin starts at the realization she’s addressing him before taking some hurried steps back. He raises his hands as he casts a golden barrier around himself. “Will this suffice?”

Alexstrasza gives him a satisfied nod before vanishing in a puff of white smoke. In her place, by magic Anduin can’t comprehend, is a towering red dragon. She shuffles her feet carefully, feeling out the size of the room. The largest in Stormwind by far, her horns barely miss grazing the ceiling. Anduin is only as tall as her knee. He faintly wishes they’d chosen an outdoor venue.

She bends her neck around to him. Jewelry on her horns jingles a light song. “Come now, don’t look at me like that! I promise no castles toppled by a dragon today.” She grins, somehow the exact same as on her elven face. “Well, not by this dragon, anyway. Now, where was I?”

She turns back around toward Wrathion and the eggs. He’s straightened up, as though trying to appear taller.

She addresses him ceremoniously. “Wrathion, son of the Obsidian dragonflight. I bequeath unto you and your brood my blessing, as Dragon Queen. May the black dragons rise again under your wings.”

She opens her great maw and spills flame down onto him. Anduin knows it isn’t the type that could harm a dragon, yet his heart still leaps with fear. Fire licks around his magical shield, though no warmth penetrates.

Wrathion glows in the aftermath, as though truly imbued with divine blessing.

Alexstrasza closes her mouth and very thoughtfully stops taking up half of the castle.

Anduin dispels his shield once the last few magical embers wink out. “What has this done, exactly?”

Alexstrasza wags a finger. “Just because you’ve sired a couple of dragons doesn’t mean you get access to all our ancient secrets, little king.” Wrathion rolls his eyes. “For now, how about we just say, you’ve witnessed a Lifebinding.”

“It was quite impressive.”

“Why, thank you!”

Wrathion cleats his throat pointedly. Anduin rushes over to peer down at the little clutch. They too, glow with a faint aura, but seem otherwise unchanged.

“Will they hatch very soon?”

“That all depends on them.” Alexstrasza states. “But I would expect within the hour.”

“And they don’t need any help?”

Wrathion huffs. “No one helped me.”

Alexstrasza frowns, jovial face overcast with sorrow. “And for that I apologize, young one.”

“I turned out perfectly well, no need.” He replies primly.

“As he says, dragons may hatch by their own devices.”

Anduin watches as another thin crack spreads down one shell. “And if they aren’t… fully dragons?”

Wrathion makes an odd face at that, more difficult to read in his true form.

Alexstrasza shrugs. “Drakonid manage just as well.”

“Drakonid?” Anduin suddenly imagines a centaur-like half dragon creature scuttling from an egg.

“Our children are not _drakonid._ ” Wrathion hisses. “These are clearly dragon eggs.”

“Indeed they are.” She responds in a placating tone.

Anduin sits leaning against Wrathion’s chest, as the three settle in to watch the eggs slowly crack and wriggle. It’s as unfulfilling as watching paint dry, while simultaneously being the most nerve wracking thing he’s ever experienced.

A large crack moves. Anduin’s heart leaps. Then it ceases movement for minutes at a time. Two immensely powerful magic beings on either side of him, intently watching with an air of knowledge, while Anduin feels lost.

The less cracked one, the smaller one, _Nyxondra_ , suddenly explodes with a burst of movement. Where black shell had been is a small black head, still from the exertion of breaking through. Anduin has some recollection of Wrathion as a young whelp, but he’s sure Wrathion never looked so heart-meltingly fragile. Or so _small_. The whelp blinks open glowing red eyes and makes one pitiful little cry. Anduin freezes.

Wrathion winds his snout in close. He speaks something in a warm tone to the whelp that Anduin can’t understand, but can recognize as Draconic.

She wriggles more, managing to get her tiny front limbs out of the egg, and from there makes easy work of sliding her back end out with a rush of fluid. She blinks quietly, flat on her belly on Wrathion’s tail, seemingly entirely exhausted by the ordeal.

She’s overwhelmingly cute in a reptilian sort of way, with a short rounded little snout and light orange wings plastered to her back with the remains of her egg casing.

“She’s so strong, isn’t she?” Wrathion’s voice is hushed, dripping with pride.

Alexstrasza speaks something Draconic as well, though Anduin doesn’t see who it’s addressed to.

“I’d rather a towel, if it’s all the same to you.” Wrathion replies.

Alexstrasza chuckles. “Gone human now, have you?”

“I prefer to think of it as modernizing. Fetch us a towel quickly, Anduin?” Wrathion addresses him. “Unless _you’d_ like to lick them clean.”

Anduin nods and rushes off, feeling foolish for not planning ahead of time. He hadn’t been sure in what state the whelps would emerge. Or if they would even be whelps.

He flusters through locating a bundle of linens and returns to find the scene largely unchanged, though with one additional crack in the unhatched egg.

“Here we are-“

The second whelp’s head bursts forth in a similar fashion to her sister, though with some considerably greater effort. The crown of her head remains encased. After some long quiet moments, no further movement comes.

“Would you like to help her out?” Alexstrasza questions kindly.

Anduin crouches down. “Of course, I-“ The second whelp struggles within her egg but seems to make little headway. Anduin reaches a careful hand to the opening she’s made in the shell and slowly works it open, allowing her to slide forward onto a fluffy towel. She makes no movement apart from her breathing, as though perplexed at her sudden change of location. She lets out a distressed coo.

“Oh no, it’s alright, I’m here, love.” Anduin cups two hands around her with no regard for the coating of slime. Her head twitches toward his voice, and she opens bright blue eyes up to him. Anduin’s jaw drops.

“Ah, so they are yours after all!” Alexstrasza jokes. Wrathion growls. Anduin can barely hear them over the heartbeat thudding in his ears. His little whelp, _Tiffin,_ rests her head on his wrist and keeps staring up at him.

“Hello.”

She peeps softly back.

  



	2. Chapter 2

“So you see, it would be incredibly beneficial to me if I could, uh, get some— pardon me for saying so, my king, but the princess is, chewing the throne.”

Lady Turner interrupts her own speech to sheepishly point behind Anduin. He whirls around, unsettling Nyxondra on her perch around his neck, to find that Tiffin is, indeed, gnawing on an arm of the extravagant seat.

“Tiffin!”

The black dragon whelp squawks at being caught out. Her claws dig in as Anduin plucks her from the chair, and she cries out a petulant protest. Her sister peers down curiously at the tantrum going on in Anduin’s arms.

“Tiffin, no!” Nyxondra parrots the _very_ frequently spoken phrase in her chirpy little voice.

Tiffin huffs a little puff of smoke and settles for biting Anduin’s sleeve.

“I’m so sorry, she’s been… teething? We think, at least.” Anduin addresses the poor woman who’d been interrupted. Thankfully, she seems nothing but amused.

“We have a few at that age, causing all sorts of mischief and knowing exactly what they’re doing.” She commiserates with a smile. “They grow out of it, right into lying to your face.”

“Oh yes, we’ve had some of that as well. Tiffin, are you chewing Father’s sleeve?”

“No!” She states loudly, while continuing tearing it to shreds.

The two of them laugh together at the little outburst.

“Well, at any rate, thank you for being so understanding. I’ll be sure to send the next free hand looking for work right your way.”

“That would be much appreciated, King Wrynn. Goodbye, princesses!”

She waves a hand at them, exaggerated for their benefit. Tiffin pointedly takes no notice, while Nyxondra tucks her head behind Anduin’s collar, leaving just her little red eyes peeking out.

“It’s alright love, what do we say?”

She peeps a weak noise.

“Can you say ‘goodbye’?”

“Goodbye...” She mumbles it into his neck.

“Very good!”

Lady Turner laughs again before bowing to Anduin and taking her leave.

Anduin sighs with relief.

“That’s everyone for today, girls! What do you think, should we go find your dad?”

They both chirp with excitement.

Tiffin flaps her little yellow wings and takes off, still carrying a scrap of cloth in her mouth. Anduin follows her diligently back to the royal quarters, Nyxondra in tow.

Wrathion had made a considerable effort in changing the flow of his life to find him home in Stormwind as much as possible. Still, some days he was required elsewhere, and very occasionally for more time than that, making the days of his return something of a celebration for the little family.

Anduin walks in to find Wrathion with a squirming new attachment to his turban.

Nyxondra squeaks a word in Draconic and flies over to him as well. Anduin can recognize some Draconic after sitting in on the girls learning it, but his mouth struggles to make the proper sounds. This one, Wrathion tells him, is < _father > _. Both daughters take delight in squealing it as they crawl all over him.

“Could you give me a hand for a moment, love?” Wrathion was very obviously in the middle of removing his outerwear, now made impossible by two energetic whelps.

Anduin secures one in each arm, while keeping them close enough to Wrathion that they don’t complain too much. Tiffin still bites his finger anyway.

Wrathion fakes a shocked gasp as he shrugs off his shoulder plating. “Are you eating your father?”

Tiffin giggles and nibbles him again, gently this time.

“Now darling, remember, we only bite the things we want to kill!”

“Is that the rule now?” Anduin deadpans. “Maybe _all_ the dragons in this household could use a refresher on that one.”

Wrathion grins wickedly. “Alright, how about, we only bite the things we want to _eat_ -” He finishes dressing down and takes Tiffin in his hands. “-and I could just eat you up!” He twirls her around while miming playful little snaps. She squeaks laughter and bites right back at him.

“I suppose I should be flattered?” Anduin leans in to kiss Wrathion, who presses his mouth back firmly before nipping Anduin’s bottom lip.

“I’d certainly love to eat you.” Wrathion’s eyes practically smolder.

“I’ll inform my guards at once.”

Nyxondra wriggles in Anduin’s hold, suddenly distressed. “No! Don’t eat him!”

Wrathion blinks with surprise as his face is accosted by two scaly little feet. “I don’t believe I’ve met this guard before, but I must say, she’s awfully cute.”

Nyxondra either doesn’t understand the joke, or is taking her new job very seriously. “Don’t eat!”

“Yes, of course not, darling.” He settles Tiffin on his shoulder before taking Nyxondra in his arms. “I promise not to eat your father, alright?”

Nyxondra hums a little sound, seemingly not quite convinced.

“A person isn’t very yummy for a dragon, are they?”

“No!” They both chirp.

“I should hope not.” Anduin mumbles.

“What would a dragon like to eat?” Wrathion continues, ignoring him.

“A rat!” Tiffin glows with pride at her answer.

Wrathion and Anduin both grimace. “No, I– did you eat a rat, Tiffin?” The whelp demonstrates more ferocious little chomps.

“A bug?” Nyxondra offers, clearly fishing for praise as well.

“Oh, Light.”

“How about this, why don’t I take you both hunting with me tomorrow? We can find some dragon food together!” Both girls erupt with excited chirping.

“Wrathion.” Anduin gives him a look that he hope conveys exactly how bad of an idea that sounds.

“Anduin.” Wrathion’s returning look can only be read as painfully condescending. “We’ll stay nearby, just to Elwynn, it’s perfectly safe.”

“I get complaints from citizens every day of gnoll attacks in Elwynn.”

Wrathion furrows his brow, as if he had never considered a gnoll possible of attacking. “No offense to your dear citizens, my king, but I don’t think we’ll have any trouble.”

Anduin knows Wrathion is a good sized, fully capable black dragon, with whom he would be happy to trust his own personal safety, any day, over a dozen veteran guards. And yet.

“Why don’t I come along too. Just in case.”

Wrathion laughs, deep and rich. “If you can find the time, certainly.”

“I can make the time.” Anduin tries to put some kingly finality on the statement. Wrathion cocks an eyebrow. Anduin flusters. “Really, I can. Honestly everyone will probably be happy I spend my family time out of the keep for once instead of in the meeting rooms. You know the antique map of Kalimdor went up in flames two days ago?”

Wrathion’s face practically sparkles with delight. “A fire? Who was it? Tiffin?” He bounces her happily.

“Nyx. She, uh, hiccuped.”

“Ah!” Wrathion holds the smaller whelp up high. “My little flame elemental!” Nyxondra preens in the affection. Tiffin bites Wrathion’s collar.

“It was impressive, yes.” Anduin works hard not to look as ecstatic as Wrathion. “But it was quite an old map.”

Wrathion waves a hand dismissively. “All the better to be rid of it then, I’m sure it was dreadfully inaccurate.”

Anduin rolls his eyes, but fails to continue hiding his grin. “The Exodar was pasted on.”

“You see! The war room is better off for the loss. That spiteful old wolf should be thanking his princess for the improvement.”

Anduin coughs. “He doesn’t call them that.”

Wrathion narrows his eyes. “And what _does_ he call them?”

“Nothing much?” Wrathion’s frown grows. Anduin rushes to explain. “Really, it isn’t a slight! Well, it is, but it’s also just royal protocol. They aren’t princesses, technically.”

Wrathion huffs. “Because I’m not, _technically_ , a prince?”

“Well. Yes. Or a, king, or queen, or anything… official tied to me.” Anduin toys with the frayed lining of his sleeve. “Not to pressure you.”

Wrathion rolls his eyes. “It just seems inconvenient to me, Anduin. I can’t be performing any duties as Prince Consort of Stormwind, while managing my own affairs impartially. You understand.”

“Of course.” The whelps have settled down, tired from a trying day. Anduin takes Tiffin down from her perch and cradles her securely.

Wrathion squints at Anduin, suspicious. “You aren’t upset with that, are you?”

Anduin hums as he strokes a thumb along Tiffin’s scaly forehead. “A little disappointed. But not upset. I knew who you were getting into this, after all.”

Wrathion scoffs. “But you can’t have thought you’d be getting into _this_ , hm?” He gestures to the drowsy twins.

“I’m perfectly content with all three of my dragons.” Anduin teases. “Them even a little more than you.”

Wrathion fakes an offended noise with the panache of a born performer. “We’ll see if you’re still saying that after tomorrow!”

He strides dramatically off toward the nursery.

“Don’t think I’ll forget that anything that goes wrong will still be your fault!” Anduin calls as he rushes after him.

 

Anduin does not, as he had promised, find the time. He finds himself with nothing but a lack of time, initial negotiations with the farmers’ labor union running dreadfully over schedule, though not without due cause. The moment he steps out of the room, he’s accosted by High Priestess Laurena.

“Will you be attending the sermon this evening?”

Anduin balks at the question. “I hadn’t planned to, honestly. I’ve been fairly busy recently–“

“But not too busy for the Light, I’m sure?” Her tone carries just the barest hint of judgement, in the way all priests seem to have perfected.

“Of course not, High Priestess. I walk with the Light always.” He recites the line hoping to gain some favor, or at least craft a window in the conversation through which he can escape.

“I just don’t want anyone thinking you were straying, is all. There’s been some talk, regarding the…”

Anduin tries not to let the anger show on his face. “Regarding my daughters?”

Laurena seems to recognize her error and backpedals smoothly. “Regarding your daughters, yes. They haven’t been to the Cathedral yet, as far as I know? It would be only right to begin their association with the Light from a young age.”

Anduin is taken aback by Laurena’s new angle. He truthfully, had never considered the whelps being sensitive to the Light. He had never known of any dragon to particularly care for it, Wrathion least of all, unless Anduin was healing him. It was said that affinity for the Light ran in families, however. Anduin had been told, when he was much younger, how much his own strength was like his mother’s.

Anduin gives Laurena a genuine smile, suddenly feeling optimistic. “We’ve made other plans for the day, but I really will make sure to bring them the first chance I get, High Priestess. I have been missing the Cathedral. You’re sure they would be well received?”

Laurena gives him the exact reassuring smile she always does, the same as when Anduin had barely even begun study the Light. “I’ll make sure of it myself.”

They bow to each other before walking their separate ways. Anduin feels his spirit buoyed by the conversation. The sun is still high enough in the sky that there should be time enough for a quick romp through the forest before a late dinner.

Anduin nears the royal family’s quarters and begins to pick up on an odd sound. Something about it demands his attention before he can even make it out. When he can, his blood runs cold with a jolt of fear. It sounds like a whelp’s distressed cry, but terribly distorted with effort, as if she can barely manage to force the noise. Anduin’s even pace breaks into a sprint, frantically going through logistics in his head of what could have happened as he runs to the nursery. Wrathion was with them, said he would be all afternoon, where was he, what could get past him to the keep unnoticed? Anduin cries out in his mind, a psychic shout searching for Wrathion. It finds him, flying half a mile away over the forest.

 _“Wrathion, something’s wrong!”_ Anduin feels Wrathion’s distress at the communication, his own panic seeping through.

_“Anduin?!”_

Anduin rounds the corner to the source of the pitiful noise. He loses the concentration to hold his psychic link.

There, in the nursery, sat by the large, tightly sealed window, is one little whelp. And one little girl, no older than two. She catches sight of Anduin and makes her sad cry again, trying to force a reptilian sound through an unexpectedly humanoid mouth. Her sister skitters around her, still in whelp form, seemingly purely curious. Anduin can tell from any angle Nyxondra’s dragon form. He wraps Tiffin in his cloak and scoops her up, somehow the exact same weight he’s used to.

“There now, darling, I’m here, it’s alright!”

Tiffin turns her blue eyes on him, glassy with tears she doesn’t know how to shed. She tucks her head against his neck in a jerky motion. Anduin strokes her hair gently. “Nothing is wrong, Tiffin, you haven’t done anything wrong, everything is fine.” He repeats the affirmations in a soothing voice, as much for himself as Tiffin.

There’s a solid _thud_ against the outer wall, before a large black head is peering in the window frantically. In a puff it becomes Wrathion’s familiar face as he uses his human hands to fiddle with the window and tumble into the room.

“I swear I was only gone a moment, Anduin, I thought I’d fly over Elwynn to make sure everything seemed safe, you were so worried before–“

Anduin interrupts Wrathion’s babbling. “It’s fine, everyone is fine. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Wrathion gets to his feet and his eyes find the bundle in Anduin’s arms. “Oh!”

Anduin smiles weakly. “She was confused, I think.”

Tiffin’s new form in the spitting image of Wrathion’s, all tumbling dark curls and deep brown skin. Anduin feels some

amusement at the fact that his only claim to parentage is still her bright blue eyes. Dragon genes must be overwhelming.

“What happened?” Wrathion peers curiously at Tiffin. Nyxondra crawls up to rest on his shoulder to see as well.

“I don’t really know, I heard her crying and found her like this, over by the window–“

Anduin stops mid-thought, realization dawning on him as he looks at the open window Wrathion had just climbed in. “She was trying to follow you out.”

Wrathion has the decency to look sheepish. “How smart of her!”

Tiffin sniffles, distracting Anduin from any further admonishing. She shows them all her little hands, with a questioning noise.

“Yes, well done!” Wrathion holds his hand up to compare. Anduin hadn’t noticed before, but Tiffin’s are similarly tipped with tiny talons. “Just like me, right? I change all the time!” Wrathion shifts into his drake form again. “Like this, yes? Can you do it?”

Tiffin looks at Wrathion with a very serious expression that looks absolutely ridiculous on her toddler face. Then she poofs, filling Anduin’s arms with her familiar scales.

“I did it!” She wriggles around, supremely pleased with herself.

“You did!” Wrathion smiles before shifting back again.

Tiffin freezes, watching him closely. “Me too?”

“Oh, no you don’t have to, you can be, uh, however–“ Wrathion winces at Anduin, unsure.

“You can be a dragon or a person, darling, it doesn’t matter.”

Tiffin seems to mull over the information, before biting Anduin’s hand carefully. “Father?”

“I’m just a person, but you’re both, so you get to pick! Right, Wrathion?”

“Sort of, most places don’t usually prefer _dragon_ dragons–“

“Wrathion.”

“Well, she should know! I can’t traipse around Stormwind, wings and all, it causes a scene! And the _clearance_ is severely lacking–“

Tiffin tips her head to the side.

Wrathion stammers. “You can be both, Tiffin. Both are good.”

“Okay.” She stretches her forelegs out and shifts back again. “I’m a person!” She wiggles her arms around, delighted.

Nyxondra grumbles from Wrathion’s shoulder. “Me too!” She transforms and promptly loses her balance, forcing Wrathion to spin quickly to catch her.

She, too, shares Wrathion’s darker skin and the majority of his features, but sports wavy blonde hair. She seems instantly taken by it, holding up a handful for Anduin to see.

Wrathion holds her gingerly, unaccustomed to having such a delicate daughter. Anduin quickly hands him a blanket.

“You know, I sort of figured you all… came with the clothes?”

Wrathion blinks at Anduin’s statement as he swaddles Nyxondra. “You thought dragons were hatched with full outfits?”

“I thought it was part of the whole, transformation, some sort of dragon magic?” Anduin flusters as Wrathion smirks at him.

“I suppose druids come with their own clothes as well?”

“That’s not–!” Anduin doesn’t bother arguing the point in the face of Wrathion’s laughter. “Well, they need to wear something!”

“Oh, it’s fine. Girls, would you like to be dragons again?”

Wrathion asks the question with an air of confidence, like one would ask if anyone wanted dessert with their Winterveil feast. But instead of excited cheers, he’s met with two petulant little frowns on distinctly non-dragon faces.

“No!” They both chorus.

“You’re a person! I’m a person!” Tiffin shouts, waving her hands in a tantrum.

“Well, yes, but I’ll be a dragon when we go outside.”

Tiffin squints her eyes at this, a face nearly identical to the one Wrathion makes when he’s trying to figure out the right thing to say to ruin Anduin’s argument. The stark similarity takes him by surprise and Anduin chuckles.

“Father is a person.” Nyxondra says. She’s still clutching her lock of blonde.

Wrathion glares at Anduin like his human body presenting this flaw in logic is the single greatest affront of his life. “I’m sure he’d be a dragon if he could.”

“Well, I don’t know about that-“

“But he doesn’t know how, so he can’t.”

Both girls look at Anduin with wide sad eyes.

“I’ll teach you!” Tiffin in Anduin’s arms becomes a whelp again. “Easy!”

“It’s not something I can learn, Tiffin, I’m sorry. It’s special just for you and Nyx and your dad.”

“Why?”

“It’s just how we were born.”

The philosophical nature of such a statement sends the two children for a mental loop.

Finally, Tiffin transforms once more. “I want to be a person today.” Her sister nods in agreement.

“People can’t go on the trip to the woods.” Wrathion tries, exasperated.

Nyxondra replies before Anduin can. “What can people do?”

 

—-

 

Two little girls in hastily borrowed clothes kick their feet against a pew. Tiffin has been twisting her head around since they arrived, desperate to take in every detail of the glistening cathedral. Nyxondra, on the other hand, has had her red eyes fixed on the High Priestess in wonder from the moment she started her sermon.

Wrathion leans over the two toward Anduin.

“If you turn my clutch of black dragons into servants of the Light, I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive you, Anduin Wrynn.” He mutters.

Anduin smiles beautifically. “I’m merely allowing they keep their options open.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Anduin reads over the diplomatic missive he’s just received with trained eyes. It isn’t unheard of for Quel’thelas to make requests of him, but blood elves are known for their difficult politics. Anduin has to be very careful in understanding the exact intentions of the Lord Regent’s message, as well as his own response. He goes to pen his opening statement. His sleeve is abruptly pulled.

“Father, are you done?” A pair of red eyes crane over the table, trying to see what he’s working on.

“I’m sorry, Nyx, I’m not.”

She frowns. “Everyone came out of the meeting! Dad said we could go eat after!”

“Where is your dad?”

Anduin has spied Tiffin across the room, badly trying to sneak a peek at some scrolls left behind, but no sign of Wrathion.

“He said to come get you.”

Anduin frowns. “Alright, just wait a moment then, I need to finish this.”

Nyxondra nods and goes back to her sister. Anduin tries his best to refocus on his letter, but he can’t help overhearing the two girls squabbling.

“That’s Mister Greymane’s, you can’t touch it!”

“I’m just looking. If it was important he wouldn’t have left it.”

“What if he comes back?”

They speak in the poorly hushed whispers of children who haven’t quite learned how not to get caught. At nearly a year old, they could easily pass for ten year old humans, if not for their pointed ears and eerily bright eyes.

The door creaks open.

“Anduin, I wondered if I might have a–“

Greymane stops short, finding two young girls fighting over his personal documents. Anduin cringes. Genn hasn’t so much warmed to the two of them as he has begrudgingly accepted their existence. Paradoxically, his barely disguised disdain has only made the girls more curious about him. Anduin isn’t sure whether to call it a need to resolve conflict or the natural stubborn nature of black dragons.

“Sorry Mister Greymane!”

Nyxondra yanks the scroll out of Tiffin’s hands and places it back on the table. “We didn’t read it, I promise!” Tiffin hastily nods her head in agreement.

“Anduin, can you not keep your whelps in line for five minutes?” He grumbles.

“Apologies, Genn, I was a bit busy.”

Nyxondra elbows Tiffin into her own apology. “Sorry Mister Greymane, I won’t do it again.”

Greymane huffs as he sits to reorder his belongings. “It’s  _King_ Greymane.”

Nyxondra’s eyes go wide while Tiffin squints suspiciously. “ _Father_ is the king.”

“He’s the king of Stormwind. I’m the king of… somewhere else.”

“Where?! Is it nice?” Nyxondra asks.

Genn gets a wistful tone in his voice. “It was, once. It’s called Gilneas.”

“Why don’t you live there anymore?”

Genn grumbles deeply without answering. Anduin is halfway to calling the girls away when he answers. “It was cursed.”

Both girls gasp.

“We should fix it! Dad and Father are both so good at purifying! I’m learning too, look!” Nyxondra holds out her cupped hands, and conjures a small font of holy light. Anduin feels his heart swell with pride.

Genn watches the light flicker in the young dragon’s palms with a faraway look on his face. “I’m afraid it isn’t that kind of curse. But thank you very much for offering, dear.”

Nyxondra frowns as she lets the light dissipate.

“I’m sorry. About your city.” Tiffin offers.

Genn nods, absent-minded.

“Alright girls, let’s go get dinner.” Anduin stands, rolling up his work, resigned to not being able to finish it today. He ushers the two excitable children out the door before turning back to Genn.

“I’m sorry–“

Genn stops him. “It’s quite alright, Anduin.” He chuckles. “They’re just like you. Such good hearts. Your father would be proud.”

Anduin finds himself instantly choked up.

“Thank you.”

He ducks out of the room quickly before his kids can get antsy. They’re waiting outside as patiently as they’re able, but they’re still young. Even Nyxondra, who tries so hard to be well mannered, is fidgeting in place.

“Ready to go?” The girls nod and each take one of his hands as they make their way to the dining hall. It’s so different from carrying two whiny whelps on his shoulders only months ago that Anduin wants to laugh, or maybe cry. They’re growing up frightfully fast after all.

“Father?” Tiffin interrupts his train of thought.

“Yes?”

“Are there a lot of kings?”

Anduin hums. “There have been. Now it’s just me and King Greymane. But you remember my father, right? He was a king too.”

The little dragon tips her head. “Will me and Nyx be kings then?”

Anduin has thought about this. As his daughters, the dragons are heirs of a sort. If they were human, it would certainly be expected that one of them rule, and as time goes on Anduin can feel public opinion shifting in their favor even as things stand. But Anduin also knows the pressure of ruling too young, and the pain of being forced into a role you don’t want. So he asks them.

“Would you like to be a king?”

“No! You’re always inside and everyone is mad at you!”

Anduin can’t stop himself from laughing. “They’re upset with me for good reasons, I promise. Most of the time.”

“You said it’s bad to be mean.” Nyx inputs.

“Yes. It’s bad to be mean to hurt people, but the court are just trying to help me understand how best to help everyone. They really aren’t mad at me.”

Nyx frowns. “I don’t think I would want to be a king either.”

“Oh, darling, it isn’t all bad. A lot of people are nice too!”

“You are inside all the time though… I want to go out and help, like Dad!”

Anduin manages to suppress his laugh this time. “That’s perfectly fine, dear. Your Dad does good work, too.”

“Gossiping about me, hm?” Wrathion appears out of nowhere in the way he loves, holding two plates of food already.

“All compliments.”

“Ah, then feel free to carry on.”

“Dad! We saw Mister King Greymane!”

“Oh?” Anduin can practically see Wrathion’s hackles rise.

“Yeah, he was really nice today!” Nyx beams.

“Kinda.” Tiffin grumbles as they both take their food and walk with Wrathion into the dining room.

The girls regale Wrathion with the tale of the twenty minutes they were away from him while he nods and asks questions very politely. Anduin watches them go with warmth in his heart at the domesticity of it all.

 

* * *

 

“You have enough food for the night?” Anduin fusses over the girls’ knapsacks.

“Yes, Father.” They chorus back, exasperated. At two years old, they look and act just like young adults, forever embarrassed by their parents.

“Keep behaving like that and we’ll see who comes to get you when you realize what you’ve forgotten.” Wrathion reprimands.

“You’d come even if we’d set your office on fire before we left.” Tiffin teases.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t be pleased about it.”

Nyxondra laughs. “I promise both of you, we’ll be safe. And it isn’t far, we’ll call if we need help.”

As the girls had grown, they’d become increasingly invested in Wrathion’s work as an Earthwarder, and their own duties toward protecting Azeroth. So, of course, when they had heard tale of a small band of Twilight Cultists taking up shop just outside of Elwynn, they’d had jumped at the chance for a mission of their own.

Anduin fiddles with the strap holstering Nyxondra’s hammer to her back.

“Father, please, it’s fine.”

Anduin sighs and turns to Tiffin to find her in a comically defensive pose against him.

“And I have all my arrows so don’t even ask.”

Wrathion tuts. “I still think it’s silly for a dragon to wield a bow. You can just bite them, dear.”

“Yes, but they taste terrible. Especially cultists, ew. All gooey inside.”

“Please don’t eat any cultists.”

“Yes, Father.” They both sigh again.

“Alright, alright, goodbye. Light be with you.”

The girls nod before transforming. Their dragon forms are still too small to be called proper drakes, but Anduin would have a difficult time carrying them without breaking something.

“Goodbye!”

“Don’t burn the Keep down while we’re gone!”

Wrathion sighs dramatically the moment after they’ve flown off.

“Oh, this is the _worst._ Why are we letting them go?”

Anduin shakes his head. “Who knows.”

“You know, I’m absolutely terrified? I didn’t realize until now. I feel like I should rush after them, drag them home, and tear apart everything that would hurt them. I could raze the kingdom of anyone who’d dare try.”

“I think every parent feels like that.” Anduin says gently.

Wrathion barks a laugh. “Gods. Then your father should have cleaved my head from my shoulders for all the danger I put you through.”

Anduin scoffs. “Don’t think he never wanted to. Those were my choices too, though, and he understood that. Eventually.”

“They could make their choices home safely too.” Wrathion grumbles.

“That’s the kind of thinking that gets your children running off with dangerous dragon princes in the first place.” Anduin teases. “We just have to trust them. That’s all a parent can do, really. Teach them as best we can, and trust they do right.”

Wrathion sighs, then pokes Anduin in the chest. “What are you, some sort of wise old king?”

“Oh please. I’m not old, am I?”

“Mm, positively decrepit, dear. Two full grown children, and you’ve been king for how many years now?”

“Do the years when your aunt was in charge count?”

Wrathion smirks. “And an absolute cradle robber. Why, I’m sure you’d had your first love before I was even hatched.”

Anduin takes Wrathion’s hand as they walk back to the Keep. “Impossible.”

“Oh really? I’ll be sure to tell that to Velen’s poor grandniece the next time we visit, what was her name again..?”

Anduin sputters. “Please! That was absolutely not– I had just never seen a Draenei that age before– the horns are quite striking–“

“Lucky mine are bigger, hm?”

Anduin blushes faintly. “You’re terrible.”

“Then what are you, for putting up with me all these years?”

“A fool, I suppose.”

Wrathion smiles, with real warmth behind it. “Well, I must say I appreciate it.” He tugs Anduin’s hand to pull them off the path, leading them behind a tree, just outside the Keep but out of earshot of the guards. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

Anduin watches quizzically as Wrathion shakes himself out nervously.

“With Nyxondra and Tiffin taking on more responsibilities, I find myself with, more time, you know. And I was thinking, maybe, I could give you a hand. With, ah, royal-type things.”

Anduin cocks his head. “In what capacity?”

Wrathion flusters. “I thought, perhaps. As Prince Consort?”

“Oh.” Anduin finds himself at a loss for words. “This is quite a change of heart.”

“More like, I finally ran out of excuses.” Wrathion fumbles in his pockets for a moment. “I made this, as well. It’s my understanding it’s an important part of the tradition.”

He triumphantly brandishes a ring. It’s solid, deep gold, inset with three red gems. Anduin takes it carefully, almost expecting it to be hot. It fits incredibly well.

“When did you size me?” Anduin asks quietly.

“Come now, my dear, you must promise to allow me _some_  secrets in your stuffy old court.”

Anduin frowns. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, as well.”

Wrathion freezes.

“It’s nothing bad, don’t worry. Well, nothing you’ll think is bad, I don’t believe. I- I’ve been thinking about this for some time, and talked it over with some of my advisors. It’s just-” Anduin’s composed explanation breaks. “The girls don’t want to rule Stormwind.”

Wrathion nods cautiously. “I was never sure your court would allow a nearly immortal queen, either.”

“And I don’t want an heir with anyone but you.”

Wrathion clutches his chest and sags with relief.

“Were you really worried about that?!”

Wrathion laughs, manic.

“Wrathion, you’d bite the head off the man or woman who even thought about trying it.”

“Oh please, that’s a little harsh! I’d strongly suggest they vacate the continent, perhaps. Maybe send someone else to bite their head off afterward.”

Anduin rolls his eyes with a faint grin. “At any rate, I’m not interested in that either. It’s distasteful, to try for a child just for an heir, who again, may not even want to rule at all.”

“And so…?”

“So, I’d like to give up the throne.”

The mirth drains from Wrathion’s face instantly. “Anduin! You’re the only good king to ever come out of your lineage-”

“Excuse me-”

“I can’t let you throw at away on, what, the Greymanes? Genn absolutely can’t be trusted, I don’t care how fondly you think of him, and Tess is a lovely girl but you can’t think she’d do a better job than you, and I doubt she’d even want it either-”

“Wrathion. I don’t think it’s right to have a monarchy at all, at this point.”

He stops his rant dead in his tracks.

“I don’t want our children, or anyone’s, growing up with a life planned out for them that they don’t want. It isn’t right, and it certainly can’t be the right way to rule a kingdom, let alone the Alliance. Even the Horde has a more just system.”

Wrathion laughs. “You’d be daft to think Stormwind would elect anyone but you, after all you’ve done for them.”

“Maybe.” Anduin flushes at the compliment. “But maybe they’re sick of the monarchy. Maybe _I’m_ sick of the monarchy.”

“Really?” Wrathion smiles, as delighted with Anduin’s rebellion as he’s always been.

“I just don’t think I can bear all three of you going off without me.”

“Oh, Anduin.” Wrathion pulls him close. “Don’t worry, dear. I believe I can pull some strings and make you an honorary Earthwarder.”

Anduin snorts a laugh into Wrathion’s shoulder. “That’s the name I’ll take, hm? Anduin Earthwarder?”

“Oh, I like that quite a lot. Much better than Wrathion Wrynn.”

“I’m not sure I can live up to it.”

Wrathion gets a devilish grin on his face before taking a few paces back and transforming in a puff of smoke. Anduin has greatly enjoyed informing Wrathion that he seems to grow nearly as fast as their daughters, and indeed, he’s now much larger, larger than even most mounts. They are now hiding very poorly.

“No better time to start than now, my dear ex-king.”

Anduin cracks a smile. “Doing what, exactly?”

“Well, I’ve heard tale of a dastardly band of cultists, doing absolutely unspeakable things to our dear Azeroth under our very noses!”

“They’ll kill us.”

“Anduin, even you could demolish their camp with your hands tied-”

“I don’t mean the cultists.” Anduin presses a hand to his forehead, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “They’ll be so embarrassed.”

Wrathion grins widely again, somehow exactly the same on his draconic face. “Well, what else are fathers for?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all for this! Thanks so much to everyone that enjoyed, it means a lot to me <3


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